


Behaving Badly

by aleksrothis



Series: Breaking The Ice [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018-2019 NHL Season, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Cock Warming, Corporal Punishment, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Intercrural Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2019-11-21 03:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksrothis/pseuds/aleksrothis
Summary: Hockey can be a rough game.  But actions - on and off the ice - have consequences.Ch1: Backstrom/WilsonCh2: Spezza/HintzCh3: Tavares/MatthewsCh4: Tkachuk/Neal





	1. 'Capital' Punishment - Tom Wilson/Nicklas Backstrom

**Author's Note:**

> So, I literally started writing this immediately after Wilson's suspension but I couldn't get the scene to work. I finally figured out how I wanted it to go so enjoy this incredibly belated take.

Tom sulks around the locker room after being evicted from the game, as the adrenaline rush wears off. Initially he had felt only the satisfaction of landing a solid hit but the kid had just laid there on the ice afterwards and some sense of guilt had crept in past his anger.

He’d been expecting a two-and-ten so the ejection had come as a surprise and he isn’t looking forward to the consequences.

It feels like ages until the buzzer finally goes for the end of the second period and the rest of the team tramp back into the room.

If he'd been expecting any sympathy, he'd have been disappointed. Nicky is clearly furious, eyes flashing as he snaps, “You never learn, do you? What were you even thinking?”

“The Blues concussed Kempy,” Tom contends but he knows it’s a weak argument; with the benefit of hindsight it was clear he'd gone too far. He hadn’t been planning the hit, had just seen the opportunity and gone for it, taking out his frustrations. 

“So you thought doing the same to Sundqvist would make things even?” Nicky sneers. “Bortuzzo already got suspended for the elbow. Like you’re going to.”

“Papa,” Tom protests though Nicky is probably right.

Though Tom can feel the entire team’s eyes on them, no-one speaks up in his defence. They all know Nicky is the one who has the say here.

“Don't call me that,” Nicky orders. “If I was your father, I'd spank you for your behavior out there. How many times do you have to be told?”

He might not be a sub but at this point Tom would rather a spanking, the absolution of punishment, than have Nicky’s anger hanging over him. Bad enough that he will have to wait for player safety to make _their_ decision, and he knows they’re not going to be happy with him either. “Please, Papa,” he begs, his mouth dry with the anticipation.

Nicky narrows his eyes at Tom, considering, then nods. “You can wait until the game’s done though. Shower and be ready for me.”

Tom hesitates, unsure exactly what Nicky means when he says ready for him. For a spanking? Or is he planning something more substantial as a punishment? He finds he is almost afraid to ask and he's a little aroused as well.

When he doesn’t move, Nicky raises an eyebrow challengingly, “Changed your mind already?”

Tom shakes his head, hands clenching helplessly at his sides as he tries to work out what to say.

“Then get on with it. Unless you want to make your punishment worse.” Nicky’s look is cold as Tom hurries to obey. 

He takes longer than usual making sure he is clean for whatever Nicky has planned and, by the time he is done, the rest of the team have headed out for the third.

Tom isn’t sure if Nicky means to punish him right here in the locker room but he can’t sit around naked for the whole period so he pulls his suit on, hoping that’s the right choice. He knows he could leave - head up to the press box or even straight to Reirdan’s office - but earning Nicky’s forgiveness means more to him than avoiding the issue.

The Caps win, which is a relief for Tom, stuck in limbo, but their victory doesn’t seem to have improved Nicky’s mood. He does at least wait until the press leave before calling Tom over to his stall.

This time Tom doesn't hesitate to follow his orders to, “Lose the jacket and tie” and then, once he’d stashed them neatly in his locker, “Come here and bend over.”

Despite the weight of the whole team's gaze upon him, Nicky puts Tom over his knee there in the locker room, pulls his pants and briefs down, pushes his shirt up, and puts his hand on the bare skin of his buttocks.

Tom already feels dizzy, his face warm, eyes heavy with the prelude to tears. This kind of treatment isn’t something he normally wants -- not like André who enjoys it so much Nicky wouldn't bother trying to spank him as a punishment -- but it’s different when it’s for hockey and he would defy anyone on the team to be able to resist submitting to Nicky in this mood.

“I'm not going to take it easy on you,” Nicky warns. “This is your last chance to back out.”

The implied threat makes Tom feel cold. They all know Nicky has the right to discipline him as the team’s dom but Tom could still refuse the method, or the public nature of it. He knows this is what he deserves though.

He swallows hard and says, “Please, _sir_ ,” not having to try hard to sound appropriately contrite.

Nicky wasn’t exaggerating. He doesn’t start off slow or gentle, doesn’t give any warning before he brings his hand down full strength. The smack is loud, echoing around in the room. There is a moment as Tom registers the impact when he thinks he can do this. Then the stinging pain rushes in and he isn’t so sure. 

Though it is almost silent, Tom knows everyone will be watching and bites his tongue so as not to cry out. He still has some pride.

“Count,” Nicky snaps.

That's different. Tom takes in a gasping breath and Nicky waits until he manages a shaky, “One,” before continuing.

Each blow rocks him and Tom finds himself helplessly clenching his hands. He wants to grab hold of something to ground him but the only thing in reach is Nicky’s leg and he can’t show that kind of weakness.

As much as he wants to, Tom can't stay quiet between blows and still count aloud as Nicky wants but he tries to control his response. He’s supposed to be tough and, though the sound of each blow echoes around the room, Tom doesn’t want anyone to think he can’t take it. He reminds himself this is what he deserves.

Nicky knows what he’s doing, varying where the blows land, but even so they are starting to overlap and it is getting harder for Tom to keep his composure.

They get to twenty before Tom starts to struggle but Nicke holds him still, the arm across him like steel. There's not that much difference in their size and in this position Tom has no leverage. Not that it would have helped, he’d watched Nicky wrestling Burky at that FBI training day last year - no-one stood a chance against him.

Oshie tries to intercede, “Hasn't he had enough?” 

Nicky makes a dismissive noise. “He knows the rules. One blow for each minute of the game he missed.”

Tom shudders. He'd thought nearly twenty was bad enough a couple of years back. He wasn't sure how he was going to take nearly twice that. 

“That’s more than thirty,” Oshie objects. “He’s hardly going to be able to walk after that.”

Though he appreciates the defence, Tom doesn’t want to think about the aftermath of this. If even Osh -- who loves impact -- thinks it’s a lot, he definitely is going to be feeling it for days.

“It isn’t as though he is going to need to play any time soon,” Nicky points out viciously. “He'll be lucky if he's out less then ten games.”

Tom hadn't even thought that far ahead. After last year’s playoffs, player safety had made it clear they were watching him closely and were unlikely to accept that he'd served his punishment from Nicky, even if the team did. 

It starts to dawn on him that they're supposed to be raising their banner next game and he's going to be stuck watching from the press box and he clenches his jaw to stop himself whimpering aloud.

“So he made a stupid mistake, Nicky,” Carly protests. “Go easy on him, it wasn't deliberate.”

Tom flinches, knowing it kind of was, so it is no surprise that Nicky is unmoved by that argument. “Even if that’s true, he should know better by now. Maybe he'll learn to be more careful next time.”

“I will,” Tom cries, almost pleading. “Nicke, I’m sorry.”

Nicky shows him no mercy, his hand coming down again. “If you stop counting, we're going to be doing this again from the beginning until you learn how to behave.”

He doesn't doubt Nicky would follow through on that threat so Tom doesn't stop, forcing the words out. “Twenty-one.” 

It definitely hurts now, the initial sharp sting having turned into a burning sensation across his whole ass and each new blow sends a jolt of pain through him.

His voice is breaking by the time he finally gasps out “Thirty-five” and Tom is shaking with the adrenaline. He almost can’t believe it’s over.

He tilts his head but Nicky doesn’t run his fingers through his hair like he normally would, tell him all is forgiven and that’s he done well, as Tom craves to hear. Instead he lifts his hand away saying flatly, “You're done.”

Tom slides off his lap onto the floor, still gasping through his tears. He hears Nicke walk away, leaving him there, then the others leaving in ones and twos, but he waits. Surely Nicky will come back. His ass throbs with the heat and pain and his eyes blur with tears. His shirt is sticking to his chest with sweat and as he tries to shake it out it slides back down and even the lightest brush of the fabric hurts his ass. 

He stays where Nicky left him, eyes down, trying to be patient, though he doesn't know what more Nicky wants. His sweat starts to dry and his breathing and heart rate settle, though every approaching sound makes him flinch.

Minutes pass and part of him wants to reclaim his dignity, pull his clothes back on despite the discomfort, walk away and take care of himself. The other part, the louder one, needs to prove to Nicky that he can be good.

Finally, there is no more chatter in the room and Tom hears footsteps coming towards him. He peers up hopefully but it is only Holts standing there and his stomach churns.

“Papa? Tom asks hopefully but Holts just shakes his head and Tom shrinks in on himself, throat seizing around all the words he had planned to say.

“He asked me to take care of you tonight,” Holts tells Tom gently. “He’ll speak to you in the morning when he’s calmer.”

At least Nicky hasn’t forgotten about him completely but Holts’ tender care doesn’t make up for Nicky’s absence. Tom fights back a sob. He’s done everything he was asked for but apparently it wasn’t enough.

“Come on,” Holts reaches out a hand to help him up and pulls him into a hug. It is too much and Tom breaks down, knowing he’s making a mess of Holts’ shirt but unable to help himself. Holts just rubs his back until he manages to settle himself. 

“I'm okay now.” Tom tries to pull away, but Holts ignores his protests.

“No chance,” he insists. “You're coming home with me tonight. I'm not telling Backy I let you leave alone.”

Tom has to admit it will be easier with someone to help him and it’s some relief to hear that Nicky still cares, even though Tom probably doesn’t deserve it. Why else would Nicky have left like that?

Their goalie is usually the one to fill in when Nicky isn’t there and Tom’s familiar with Holts’ style, though more from André’s oversharing than his own experience. He lets Holts lead him out to his car. The ride back to this place sucks but once they get there he knows he's done and Tom figures he’ll feel better in the morning.

\--

Nicke drives, knows he is running from his mistakes but he can’t bring himself to turn back. His hand throbs and he grips the wheel tighter, not allowing himself to forget what he just did.

Back home he paces, the quiet of the house seeming to echo with every step he takes.

When his phone chimes with a Snap from Braden showing Tom asleep in his spare room something in his gut eases but his guilt increases. Tom should be here, curled up in his spare bed, where Nicke could check on him but he hadn't had the composure to return and face his mistake.

Nicke hardly sleeps that night. In all his years as a dom for the team he has never lost his temper like that and followed through with the punishment. He feels adrift, as though usually stable ice has given way beneath his feet.

He knows he should have walked away and dealt with Tom when he was calmer but he hadn’t been able to let it go. After his suspensions last year, especially in the playoffs, to go and do something like this again was the sort of boneheaded decision Tom had promised to put behind him. And for him to have done it to Sundqvist, who was a fellow Swede, one of Christian and Andre's friends even, added insult to injury.

As he lies tossing and turning Nicke can’t help replaying Tom’s tears, his pleas of remorse. He hadn’t paid attention at the time, welcoming them as proof of his dominance. Looking back, Nicke knows Tom is too proud to have asked for it to stop but, if he had been taken to the point of protesting, Nicke had probably gone too far. The thought of how much he had failed him as a dom, twists him up inside. What kind of example did that set to the rest of the team?

The sunrise finds him still lying awake. Nicke gets up and makes himself coffee but doesn’t drink it before it goes cold. Given the way Nicke’s hand aches, he can imagine how sore Tom must be this morning. The thought makes him uneasy and he’s glad they have the day off, even if he expects his prediction about a long suspension to be confirmed. 

As the day passes, Nicke can’t seem to settle. He paces, struggles to focus, feeling a headache lurking at the base of his skull. He refuses to take anything, telling himself he deserves the pain, even as it leaves him nauseous.

Usually on a free day he would have expected at least one of his ‘kids’ to show up, for feeding if nothing else, but he doesn’t hear anything. He still cooks almost enough food for the whole team. He hopes perhaps they’re with Tom, he deserves the comfort more than Nicke does, but it doesn’t feel right.

Eventually he admits to himself that there’s only one way to resolve this. He needs to see Tom and try to make amends. Nicke doesn’t think he can wait another day so he texts Tom asking to meet him at Kettler and, after a moment’s thought, sends the message to Braden too.

He probably shouldn’t have driven as he barely remembers anything of the journey until he is pulling into his usual parking space. Braden meets him at the private entrance and Nicke feels his stomach churn at the bland expression on his face. He recognizes that, ‘reserving judgment’ look and it doesn't usually bode well.

“You look like shit.” Braden doesn’t mince his words.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Nicke tells him. “Look, I fucked up, I know. I’m going to try to fix it.”

Braden nods thoughtfully. “Well, he’s in the kitchen.”

Nicke spots Tom first, noting the tension in his shoulders and the bags under his eyes. He deliberately makes his steps heavier so as not to surprise him but Tom still flinches as Nicke approaches, nearly dropping his mug. The ball of guilt in Nicke's gut grows stronger.

“Can we talk?” Nicke asks, as softly as he can.

Tom’s eyes flicker over to Braden, who’s hovering just out of earshot. At least Nicke had done something right last night, in sending him to look after their wayward forward.

“Holts can come along too, if you’d prefer,” Nicke offers, though he isn’t sure he wants to face their goaltender's disappointment as well.

He can’t see what Braden does or says to Tom but, after a moment, Tom shakes his head.

Nicke leads the way to one of the trainer's rooms. He holds the door open for Tom but doesn't miss the way he flinches away from him as he goes through.

“Did you want to sit down?” Nicke asks awkwardly, gesturing to the massage table.

“I think I'd rather stand,” Tom says drily.

It's Nicke's turn to flinch as he realizes how that must have sounded. Of course Tom wouldn't want to sit down after the punishment he’d endured. He feels another deep pang of guilt.

Nicke sits. It’s probably better this way, letting Tom have the advantage in looking down at him. Except, after a moment’s silence, Tom drops to his knees. There is a sharp pain in Nicke’s chest. Usually he would welcome the sense of power in having another dom kneel before him like this but now he just feels off-balance, as though his head is spinning.

“Please, Nicke. I’m sorry.” Tom’s voice cracks and, as he looks up at Nicke, whatever his expression is showing clearly causes Tom to bite back whatever else he was going to say.

Has Nicke messed up so badly Tom think he owes him more? He can taste bile at the back of his throat. “The punishment is over,” Nicke manages. “You’re forgiven.”

Tom visibly slumps. He takes a deep breath before looking back up at Nicke, tears in his eyes. “Then why wouldn’t you even look at me after?”

Nicke wants to looks away but forces himself to meet Tom’s gaze. “It was wrong of me. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have hit you while I was angry.”

“I deserved to be punished,” Tom says, confusion in his tone.

“Yes,” Nicke’s not going to pretend otherwise. “But I shouldn’t have lost my temper. That wasn’t fair on you. I wasn’t in control.” 

Tom’s expression twists and he pushes to his feet. “You don’t get it. You don’t have to treat me like I’m delicate. I’m not one of your subs and I’m not going to fall apart just because you hurt me. But you owe me a better explanation than that.” He looms over Nicke, reaching out to shove at his chest.

Nicke’s temper flares again, and he pushes Tom back, coming sharply to his feet. “That’s enough.”

“Why?” Tom snaps, sounding more like himself. “I get it if you’re still mad at me. I fucked up. If you want to apologize because you ran away and left Holts to handle me, then fine, but you don’t need to coddle me.”

Nicke is starting to see where he went wrong. He hadn’t done so deliberately but Nicke had fallen into the trap of _not_ expecting Tom to react like André would after a punishment, or even Alex. He had intended to punish Tom as a subordinate dom but had ended up treating him as a submissive. He should have known better; Nicke takes most of the responsibility for disciplining the team and it isn’t as though this is Tom’s first transgression but it’s been less intense in the past.

Even now he doesn’t feel in control of the situation and Nicke suddenly realizes why he feels so uneasy. He hadn’t considered it a formal scene so had no plans to continue beyond the spanking but, by leaving matters unfinished, he had left both of them unbalanced. Since he hadn’t been expecting it, Nicke hadn’t realized how much he’d been in a fully dominant mindset spanking Tom last night but, in hindsight, it’s obvious. Which means what he’s been suffering from today is top drop and, though Tom would probably deny it, he’s probably on the verge of drop himself. 

And now here Nicke is compounding his error by trying to treat Tom as an equal. He doesn’t owe him an apology for punishing him roughly, he should be able to trust that Tom could take that or would have stopped him; instead he needs to reaffirm their roles, not with words nor gentleness but with action.

Nicke looks at Tom's body language, wavering between defiance and deference, and makes a decision. He steps forward and slams Tom into the wall, his forearm across Tom’s throat. Tom starts to struggle almost instinctively but it is ineffective and it settles something inside of Nicke as he quickly stills, evidently realizing the position he is in is hopeless. “Are you really sorry?” Nicke growls.

Tom tries to speak, realizes he can’t, and nods instead. His face is turning red as he struggles to breathe. 

Nicke eases up his grip a little and growls, “Turn around,” allowing Tom only just enough leeway to do so. He feels his focus narrowing, comfortable in his dominance.

Tom hesitates but then sets his shoulders and turns to face the wall. “Are you going to do it properly this time?” he asks, his tone half-taunting, half-hopeful as he crosses his arms, resting his forehead on them.

Nicke reaches down to cup Tom's buttocks, rubbing his hands over them through the clothing and then squeezing. Tom hisses and tries to pull away but there's nowhere for him to go. “Are you going to be good for me?” he responds, ignoring Tom's attempt to provoke him.

Tom doesn't reply immediately, his muscles tense and resisting but Nicke doesn't ease up until he suddenly stops fighting. “Yes,” he concedes. Then again, more firmly, “Yes, Papa. I'll be good.”

“Drop your pants,” Nicke tells him. This time Tom doesn’t hesitate and, when Nicke gets a look, he feels a brief pang of guilt at the dark red handprints where his blows had bruised but a stronger part of him delights at the evidence of his handiwork, finds his arousal stirred.

He strokes his fingers over the clear imprints, getting harder at the sight and the warmth of the reddened flesh. Nicke pushes his earlier guilt away; Tom had submitted to his discipline, been punished accordingly and he clearly repented. Now Nicke gets to give full rein to his own dominance. He loved being with subs, loved giving them what they needed to unwind, but there was an entirely different sort of satisfaction in forcing another dom to submit to him.

So Nicke picks up where he should have continued the previous evening. Even though he knows Braden would have checked thoroughly, even though their goalie had texted him last night to confirm Tom was okay, there is a certain gratification in checking for himself. Tom hisses and groans as Nicke presses down on sensitive spots but still rocks back into his touch. The marks spread beyond his buttocks; he’d had to spread the blows out since it was a heavy punishment and the tops of Tom’s thighs are also still slightly pinked.

If he hadn’t had to go so far, Nicke would have probably considered fucking Tom's stunningly thick thighs but they don’t have any lube to hand and he doesn’t want to make Tom more sore. Instead, he unzips his pants slowly, enjoying the release of the fabric restraining his cock, and lets his pants drop around his ankles.

He half-expects Tom to resist when he realizes Nicke’s intention but instead he turns his head as if trying to see. Supporting himself with one hand against the wall so he is boxing Tom in without actually holding him down, Nicke takes himself in hand. He slowly jerks off over Tom's ass, taking the time to appreciate the moment and letting himself occasionally brush up against those beautiful red buttocks.

Nicke knows he would have felt humiliated if the positions were reserved but Tom moans at every contact, shifting his hips as though he isn’t sure whether to press into it or pull away. When Nicke finally comes he feels lighter, just watching the white liquid dripping down Tom’s red cheeks.

He leans his forehead against Tom's shoulder and feels the trembling running through his body. After a few moments, Nicke reaches around and finds Tom hard. “Do you want to get off?” he asks.

“Please,” Tom says, a catch in his voice.

Nicke smiles as he wraps his hand around Tom’s cock. “Go ahead then.”

There is a pause before Tom eventually realizes Nicke isn't going to jerk him off, that he will have to work for his orgasm. Nicke wonders if this will be the point where he baulks but then Tom thrusts up into Nicke's grip, slowly at first and then with more confidence. Nicke feels warmth tingling through him at this last show of submission.

It doesn't take long before Tom comes over Nicke’s hand and he wipes the mess off onto Tom’s stomach. Tom grumbles and Nicke leans his weight onto Tom, pressing him into the wall, his hand trapped beneath their combined mass.

When Tom’s breathing settles, Nicke pulls away, encouraging Tom to lay on the bed resting his head in Nicke’s lap and he gently strokes his hair, soothingly. His own tension, the threatening headache, have evaporated, leaving only a sense of deep satisfaction.

In a little while they will have to work out how to put this behind them but for now all is well.


	2. Stars Burning Bright - Jason Spezza/Roope Hintz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter dates back to the Stars/Oilers game in December (yes, I write slow!) when Roope did indeed drop his gloves and try to fight Alex Chiasson.

As Chiasson slammed Spezza into the boards, Roope saw red. How dare he touch Spezza; he was _his vet_. He checked the Oilers player hard, flinging off his gloves and throwing himself at him but Chiasson turned away as other players joined in.

Furious at the slight, Roope tried to demand his attention but the linesmen broke the scuffle up before he could provoke him. Roope stewed in the penalty box as Chiasson smirked at him. Did they think he couldn't handle himself in a fight? He would show them.

Shorsey tried to calm him down while he sat for his own bout. “Ignore him. Look, Spez is fine.”

Almost against his will, Roope looked over. He could see Spezza had stayed on the bench so Shorsey was probably right but Roope was still angry.

The feeling hadn't gone away by the time he got out of the box, not even when he sat back down on the bench and Spezza patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. Roope didn't want that patronising approval, he burned to prove himself out on the ice.

The Oilers managed to claw back a goal to steal Bishop's shutout but the Stars still won the game, which made him feel a little better about it.

In the locker room, Spezza took the brunt of the teasing. “Better watch out, Spez,” Segs said. “Looks like your kitten’s got claws.”

Roope flushed with embarrassment but Spezza only smiled at him from across the room, eyes twinkling with what was probably amusement.

“ _It wasn't even a fight_ ,” Roope muttered in Finnish, feeling irritated. They hadn’t even got started before Khaira jumped in.

Esa gave him a sharp look. “ _That doesn't mean you get to try again._ ”

“ _Like that’s ever stopped him before_ ,” Miro muttered and Roope glared. Why did no-one seem to believe he could fight? Miro at the very least had played with him back in Helsinki and should know better.

Roope felt a bubble of resentment rising up inside him and only years of practice at suppressing his dynamic in the name of ‘professionalism’ stopped him stamping his feet or slamming the door on his way to the showers like he wanted to. 

Instead he ground his teeth together and turned the water up a little too hot, needing the sensation. He should probably have told Spezza what he needed, but it felt too hard to put into words.

Fortunately, it seemed Spezza already knew his tells, as he cornered Roope in the shower. “What's the matter?”

He shook his head in response, letting the veteran push him up against the tiled wall, warm body pressed against his, easing some of the frustration out of him. Water cascaded around them, muffling their conversation from the rest of the team but they were still in full view so Roope knew Spezza wouldn’t take it far.

“Do I need to teach you to be more careful?” Spezza murmured into his ear.

Roope shuddered at the thought of what that lesson might involve but he wasn’t ready to let the game go. “I can fight,” he objected stubbornly. Just because he was a sub didn't mean he was helpless.

“Sure you can, but you didn’t need to defend me,” Spezza told him, pulling back a step, but he seemed more amused than upset.

Roope hated that he didn’t get taken seriously. He tilted his chin up defiantly anyway. “You might have been hurt.”

Spezza brushed a hand over Roope’s cheek, “I could have been, but I wasn’t.”

His smile was clearly an effort at being reassuring but he was missing the point. Roope hadn’t thought he actually had been hurt, he’d wanted to be the one to teach Chiasson that he couldn’t do that to his team.

It wasn’t worth the argument though, so he allowed the change of subject, fluttering his eyelashes. “Maybe you want to show me like how well you are?”

Spezza laughed, that infectious giggle that couldn’t really be taken seriously. Roope felt his cheeks heat with humiliation at being dismissed so lightly, again.

Embarrassed, Roope started to turned away, but Spezza grabbed his shoulder. Roope bared his teeth at him, almost shocked at his own daring.

“Are you going to keep on being a brat?” Spezza asked, sounding amused. “You're not going to get what you need that way.”

Roope narrowed his eyes. “Who says I need anything from you?” Of course, that wasn’t true but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do anything the easy way today.

He wasn’t expecting it so he didn’t have a chance to put up any resistance as Spezza shoved him back against the shower wall and plundered his mouth, leaving Roope half-hard and weak at the knees.

He was still catching his breath when Spezza pulled away saying, “Come find me when you’re ready to behave.”

Roope knew he was being stupid as he took his time over finishing and getting dressed, fussing over his hair even though he could still see Spezza waiting out of the corner of his eye. He was grateful not to be left to his own devices after that but he wasn’t ready to go down easily.

Over the last couple of months, Spezza had proved a lot more patient with him than he probably deserved but Roope appreciated it. He didn’t know who decided how to assign vets to rookies but he’d definitely got lucky this year. He tried not to think about struggling back in Austin.

Not that either of them were obligated by the arrangement. Roope knew Spezza had a perfect marriage and adorable kids and didn’t have any interest in getting in the way of that, but the expectation that the veteran players would look out for any rookie subs had worked out well for him.

Eventually Roope couldn’t delay any longer. When he hovered nearby, Spezza looked up from his phone without any sign of irritation. “You ready?”

Roope nodded and followed him out to his car. He stayed quiet during the short drive and Spezza didn't push him for more, giving him the chance to settle by himself. It didn't work.

Back at his hotel room, Roope undressed, leaving a trail of clothes between the door and the bed but Spezza only took off his suit jacket and tie, unbuttoning his shirt collar and cuffs.

Spezza pushed the covers clear before sitting down on the edge of the bed, legs spread apart. Roope was grateful once again that he didn’t need to ask. 

As he knelt on the cushioned pad, letting himself rest his head on Spezza’s strong thigh, drawing comfort from his warmth even through the fabric, Roope felt himself starting to unwind. Spezza petted his hair, tugging lightly where it was tangled and, for a few moments it was good, but Roope couldn’t settle.

Instead he decided to test his luck. Spezza hadn’t given him any instructions so Roope leaned back a little, not pulling away from Spezza’s touch but just giving himself a little space to work.

He reached down and starting stroking himself, already mostly hard. Roope bit his lip, closing his eyes and tilting his head in a visual tease until Spezza wrapped his hair around his fist and pulled him back. “Are you going to do what you're told at all tonight?”

The pressure made his scalp tingle, sent a shudder through him. Roope licked his lips and didn't reply, waiting to find out how far he could push. Spezza had never yet got angry with him, though Roope had definitely provoked a few punishments. No dom would stand for disobedience indefinitely but so far there had been nothing he couldn’t handle and he needed to know what would happened when he crossed a line.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” Spezza still sounded more amused than anything but there was a note of something darker in his tone.

Roope felt a shudder go through him. He was so close to getting what he needed. “No,” he admitted. “But you didn't say I couldn't.” He hoped that might be the tipping point tonight.

Spezza’s lips curled, as though he wanted to laugh but he didn't. Instead he took a deep breath then tightened his grip and pulled Roope up by his hair.

It hurt. Roope wanted the pain; he wore his hair longer because he liked it being pulled but this was intense, his roots screaming in protest. When he reached up trying to relieve the pressure, Spezza grabbed his wrists instead and pulled him down onto the mattress.

That was what he needed. Roope felt himself responding to the show of dominance, letting himself go limp as Spezza straddled his chest, his solid weight making it harder to breath. Spezza’s hands were still tight around Roope’s wrists, if he was lucky maybe they would bruise.

“I think you're forgetting your place,” Spezza practically growled and Roope shuddered. This was exactly what he had wanted since the fight was cut short, to be have something to push against. If he couldn’t work his tension out on the person who’d caused it, he wanted to have something to show for it, to be marked and made to submit.

Spezza pulled Roope’s wrists up over his head until he felt the hard slats on the headboard. “Can you keep them here by yourself or do I need to tie you up?”

Roope gave it some thought, pushing against Spezza's hold but the older man just gripped his wrists tighter. Spezza had to know Roope was just going to disobey if he was left unbound and he still had some fight left in him. On the other hand, he loved the feeling of being restrained and there wasn't any good reason not to ask for what he really wanted. “Tie me up, please,” Roope said, yielding to the latter impulse.

“I knew you could be good for me,” Spezza said warmly, pinning both of Roope’s wrists with one large hand and reaching for the cuffs under the pillows with the other.

The praise eased something in him and Roope didn’t have time to think about trying to free his hands before Spezza was back with the restraints.

As soon as the cuffs were around his wrists, Roope could feel himself relaxing. He was secure, didn't need to keep fighting anymore. Even though they weren’t really attached to anything, just hooked onto the flimsy slats, the feeling of the restraints was enough. They weren’t tight but clipped together and heavy enough to restrict movement.

He twisted his wrists to check the fit, clenching his hands into fists, since he didn’t want any actual damage to his hands. The leather was cool against his skin, sturdy but lined with soft padding enough not to rub unless he really struggled, which Roope didn’t intend to.

“That's good,” Spezza told him and Roope shuddered at the praise. 

Sometimes it was so hard for him to let go, to be good, even when he wanted to. It was equally hard to find a dom both strong enough to put him down and gentle enough to recognize that he was trying and not just punish him for acting out. Spezza managed to be both and was always patient with him, probably spoiling him for any future partner.

He needed to pay attention as Spezza was still talking. “I'm still going to have to punish you,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful. “You know you're supposed to tell me when you need help.”

Roope whined, it was _hard_ to ask and being punished wasn’t exactly fun, but Spezza just hushed him, running gentle fingers through his hair until he settled again. “Don’t worry I’m not going to hurt you.”

He had learnt that just meant Spezza had a more inventive punishment in mind. Which was fair, while Roope liked pain in moderation it never really bothered him - he was a hockey player after all. Spezza pulled out the playbox from under the bed, rummaging through. As they had long since discussed what to use and what to ignore from the standard contents provided by management, Roope was hopeful whatever Spezza would pull out wouldn’t be too bad.

Spezza took his time, his body blocking Roope’s view of the equipment, allowing him to think about what Spezza might want to use on him. A gag, to stop him talking back, or maybe a blindfold to keep him guessing about what was happening. He probably hadn't done anything bad enough to warrant the paddle or any heavy punishment but, although Spezza said it was for not asking, Roope was aware he had made his dom wait and walked a fine line between brattiness and outright disobedience since they got back.

He had wanted Spezza’s full attention. Well, now Roope had it and he just needed to hope it would be worth it.

Spezza straightened up, having evidently found what he was looking for. “You remember this?” he asked, holding up the device for Roope to see.

Roope swallowed hard, feeling his pulse jump. He could clearly remember his previous experiences with the cock ring and it hadn’t exactly been fun. It had definitely been rewarding though. His erection had flagged whilst Spezza picked and he was glad of it now.

At least he could tell Spezza wasn’t really upset with him since the one he was holding was silicone rather than the metal cage he’d earned after being a brat when he got sent down back in October. Roope had managed to control his frustration better this time and at least he hadn’t actively been rude to anyone in public. 

Then again, if Spezza said the punishment was about asking for what he needed, then it was a good choice. Roope enjoyed the reminder that his orgasm wasn't his decision. Although it wouldn't stop him coming, this was another of Spezza’s ways of helping him to be good rather than just forcing him to behave and Roope really appreciated it.

He knew some doms couldn’t stand any form of disobedience, and felt they were being tested, but Roope never intended that and Spezza always seemed to understand and know how to handle him.

“I'll decide if you're coming tonight,” Spezza told him. He waited for Roope’s nod, before fixing the loops around Roope’s half-hard cock and balls, while Roope bit his tongue not to get hard again. It was uncomfortable as the band constricted his cock but at least Spezza hadn’t needed to resort to the cold washcloth technique to get it on this time. For some subs it might be a big deal but, once it was clear his own orgasm wasn't on the agenda, Roope found himself relaxing even more. 

“You like that, don't you?” Spezza said. It wasn’t really a question but Roope nodded slowly anyway, letting himself sink deeper.

Roope had never found any kind of restraint a punishment in itself exactly but it depended on what Spezza intended to do with him next. Still, all he had to worry about now was pleasing his dom.

“Since you were so determined to look out for me on the ice, maybe you can see to my pleasure now,” Spezza told him, starting to undo his belt buckle.

That didn’t sound like a bad thing to Roope; he was entirely in favor of showing his appreciation for Spezza, making him feel good. “Yes,” he said, leaning up as far as he could and licking his lips. “Let me please you.”

Spezza smiled down at him, even as he moved away to strip off his pants and underwear. “You will. I know you can be good for me.”

Restrained as he was, Roope found himself drifting at the praise and, by the time Spezza positioned himself, Roope was having difficulty focusing. Spezza pinned him in place with knees either side of Roope’s chest and one hand on his forearm while the other guided his cock into Roope’s mouth. 

Roope welcomed it, sucking eagerly on the head and trying to take as much as he could. He wanted to show off his skills but at this angle he couldn’t do much and he knew it was to remind him he didn't need to do anything but take it.

Spezza took his time pushing in, only a little at first, causing Roope’s cheek to bulge out and running his hand over the outside. Roope closed his eyes, thinking about how he must look and Spezza pulled back to smear pre-cum over Roope’s lips, teasing him with the promise of more.

“Look at me,” he ordered and Roope slowly blinked his eyes open. “That’s good. Just keep your eyes on me.”

It was hard to see anything else as Spezza started slowly working his way deeper, until he was hitting the back of Roope’s throat. Though he knew Spezza wouldn’t actually choke him, Roope had absolutely no control over the pace or the depth and it was perfect.

Spezza had his free hand in Roope’s hair, not quite pulling but exerting enough pressure that he couldn’t focus on just the cock in his mouth. He was hyper-aware of every part of him, from his wrists to his feet, including his aching cock, in its own restraints..

His senses were overwhelmed by the older man, filling his vision, the soft grunts of effort he made with each thrust, his strong scent - even after a shower he still smelt of the hard game - and his broad, warm hands holding him steady. It was all Roope could do to lick and suck at whatever flesh was presented to him or to swallow around the intrusion.

“That’s it. You’re being so good for me now.” Spezza’s tone was level as he kept to a steady pace, letting Roope become accustomed to it. He even sounded in control but familiarity let Roope hear the way his breathing was speeding up and he could see sweat beading on his chest.

He tried to reach out, to encourage him to go faster, but the cuffs held and Roope moaned in frustration. 

Spezza pulled back, using his grip on Roope’s hair to keep him in place. He rubbed his cock against Roope’s lips, encouraging him to suck on the head and then raised himself up so it was his heavy balls in Roope’s face. He eagerly lavished attention of them too before Spezza shifted again, holding Roope’s jaw and slipping back in deep, returning to his previous rhythm.

This time Roope lost himself in it entirely, his world narrowing down to the taste and musky smell, the tightness in his chest as his airway was blocked again and again, the perfect ease that came from giving up control.

When Spezza came, Roope had no choice but to swallow, even as he pulled out, the last of his cum spurting over Roope’s lips and chin. He tried to lick it up but Spezza smeared it further across his face, along with Roope’s own saliva.

“I think you look pretty like that,” he said. “All messy.”

Roope’s eyelids felt heavy, though his body was buzzing with endorphins. He was still hard but it wasn't urgent, all the tension had been wrung out of him.

Spezza carefully loosened the cuffs, helping Roope lower his hands to his sides, and checking his wrists and range of movement. “That’s it, you’re done now.”

Roope sighed in relief as Spezza next removed the cock ring then hissed as he ran a hand over Roope’s length, squeezing a little too tight to be comfortable.

"Just checking," Spezza told him. “How does that feel?”

“Please?” His voice cracked where his throat ached. When he spoke tomorrow, everyone was going to know what he had been doing but Roope wasn’t embarrassed, instead it filled him with a satisfied warmth.

“I said I’d decide if you were going to get to come tonight,” Spezza reminded him.

He had, but that didn't mean it couldn't change. Roope tried to hold his hips still, not thrusting up into Spezza's grip in the hope that being good might make him decide to let him, though part of him hoped he wouldn't.

It was that part which was relieved when Spezza let go then lightly slapped his cock. The sting of it sent a rush through him, even as Spezza said, “You've been good but I'm not going to reward you for fighting and then being a brat after. Think of this as the remainder of your punishment.”

Roope sighed, biting his lip as he shuddered at the denial, but didn’t complain. Instead, he looked up at Spezza through his eyelashes, asking, “Are you staying?” He didn’t want it to be over yet. 

Spezza narrowed his eyes. “You're not to jerk off when I leave either,” he said sternly.

It wasn't as though he'd know if Roope did anyway, though Roope would and he _was_ glad Spezza cared enough to make the decision for him. Still, that wasn’t what he’d been asking. “I meant like will you stay until I go to sleep?”

When Spezza smiled down at him, Roope’s chest felt warm inside. “I can do that,” Spezza said more tenderly.

Whilst Spezza changed into more comfortable clothes that he kept there, Roope dug his fingers into the sheets and tried to will away his hard-on. It was difficult enough without the distracting view before him of Spezza’s long limbs and he forced himself to close his eyes and take deep breaths.

The bed shifted as Spezza sat down and he pulled the cover back over them. The gesture warmed Roope through and he rested his head on Spezza’s chest as the older man put an arm around him.

They cuddled for a little while, Roope’s restless energy completely abated. He started to drift off to sleep, as Spezza ran fingers through his hair, gently soothing where he had pulled it earlier.

Roope barely woke when Spezza eventually extracted himself and was only distantly aware of the sound of the door closing behind him. He knew Spezza would be back in the morning to collect him on the way to the rink and, feeling safe and cared for, he dropped quickly back to sleep.


	3. Hometown Hero - John Tavares/Auston Matthews

After his initial success with submitting to Eichs, the two of them had hung out over the summer and spent time experimenting. Eichs hadn't seemed to mind Auston's inexperience and it had been a good chance for Auston to work out what he liked with someone he trusted but, as the summer went on, it had become less satisfying.

Auston wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted but it was more than Eichs could offer. It had been good to have a regular partner and Auston wanted to try subbing more regularly during the season but he wasn't about to risk picking up a dom in Toronto. The news would be on Deadspin before they'd even finished their scene.

Anyway, his teammates knew him as a dom and he didn't really want to go through the humiliation of coming out as a switch. He probably _shouldn't_ feel that way: there were plenty of switches playing in the league without it ever being an issue but Auston knew it would be different for him.

The thought of admitting that he liked to sub, of having everyone look at him differently, made him feel nauseous. Not that he thought any of the team would say anything to his face, but that was almost worse in a way since then he wouldn't know who was secretly judging him. Besides, the Toronto media were relentless and someone was bound to let it slip.

Still, now he knew how good it felt to submit and regularly, Auston didn't think he could go another season without it. Toronto to Buffalo wasn't too far and Eichs had offered if he needed it but Auston wanted something different, wanted _someone_ different. Eichs had been good to him, and Auston had enjoyed playing around with him, but it was never going to be serious. He didn’t have the aura of dominance Auston was looking for, which had drawn him to Doughty at the All-Star game in the first place. 

Maybe if it had been last year, he might have tried asking Hainsey or Patty, they had that appeal, but he knew them too well now. Auston trusted Freddie most out of all the doms on the team, and he definitely had the dom energy, but he didn’t think the goaltender would be interested, wasn't even sure he was into subs.

Which left him hooking up on the road or their newer signings, and well, there was an obvious choice there. Auston’d looked up to Tavares long before they’d ever met, when he was just a kid dreaming of the NHL, and it didn't hurt that he was attractive.

He’d spoken to Tavares a couple of times when the team were trying to convince him to sign and they’d quickly integrated him into the team group chat but asking him for this wasn’t really on the same level. The thought of propositioning him was a daunting one even if Auston had publicly been a switch. Approaching the older player knowing he thought Auston was a dom was just an additional complication he didn't know how to overcome.

Auston arrived in Toronto for training camp still undecided on what to do. It didn’t help with his dilemma that Tavares was pretty hot when he was focused and Auston got to see it first-hand a lot at practice. 

Every time Auston made up his mind to go for it, the words stuck in his mouth and he couldn’t work out what to say. He still hadn’t found a way to broach the subject by the time pre-season got underway but when they went out with the team after their first home victory, Auston knew he had to try _something_. 

He didn’t have a lot of experience flirting as a sub, and Willy wasn't around to ask for advice since he was still back in Sweden, so Auston tried to do what had worked with Doughty, making a point of rolling his sleeves up to show off his bare wrists, exposing his throat, trying to sit where he could look _up_ at John through his eyelashes.

It seems to be working. John leans in as though he’s interested, puts a hand on his shoulder or the small of his back to direct him, Auston even catches him staring at his throat but he doesn’t make a move. Sometimes, when they are talking about past hook-ups, John gives him confused glances, evidently wondering if he was reading things wrong. Auston wishes he knew how to tell him he wasn’t.

Though Auston keeps trying, John persists in being oblivious, or at least overly cautious. Auston’s pretty certain it isn’t lack of interest which has him keeping his distance.

Still, after a couple of weeks when it doesn't seem like John's going to make the next move, Auston admits he starts to get a little bratty. He finishes his checks a bit too hard in practice, spreads into his space at video review, takes the last of the coffee knowing John's right behind him. 

Lou used to discourage pranks so they don't really have a tradition of hazing new players but Auston even considers some of the classic ones they'd done on the USNDT: putting tape on his skate blades or even cutting his laces, before deciding that might be pushing things too far.

After a month or so, it was frustrating enough that, even when Auston could bring himself to pick up subs instead, it didn't seem to take his mind off the situation for longer than the encounter lasted. Worse, he was finding himself increasingly on edge, thrown into emotional highs and lows at a word from Babcock, Patty, or even Mo when he was in full-on captain mode. 

Despite his misgivings, Auston has started to give serious thought to picking up a dom on their road-trip. They have a couple of nights in California in mid-November and then Florida in mid-December where he could be practically anonymous, but he couldn’t bring himself to go through with it.

It all comes to a head just before the New Year after their shitty loss to the Islanders. They'd been shut out and neither of them had had a really good chance. Given how important the game was for John, Auston should have thought twice before being short with the press but he's tired and frustrated and John's still not giving him what he wants. 

He finishes getting changed as everyone else heads off, hurrying home as though they want to forget this game as soon as possible. Auston assumes he’s the only one left and is therefore blindsided as he leaves the locker room and Tavares shoves him hard up against the wall. 

“What did you say that for?” Tavares demands.

“What the fuck, man?” Auston had wanted to be close to him, maybe even thought about Tavares manhandling him, but not like this. “Like you even care.”

“You've been baiting me for weeks. Did you think I wouldn't know you were talking about me?” Tavares growls, grabbing Auston by the shoulder. “What's your problem with me?” 

He catches Auston's hair as he shakes him and Auston just drops. Both literally, in that he falls to his knees, and also that it takes him directly into the headspace he’s only reached when subbing.

It feels so natural to kneel, and it’s such a relief after so long, Auston almost forgets that Tavares doesn’t know about his actual dynamic.

When Tavares blinks down at him in surprise, saying “You're a sub? But I thought-” Auston tries to articulate a response but can only press his head into Tavares’ hand.

Tavares’ eyes narrow speculatively. “Yeah, you want this, don't you?” He repeats his earlier gesture more deliberately; his fingers tangle up a good handful of hair close to Auston’s scalp and tug, sending shivers all the way down to his toes. When Jack had had a hand in his hair it had felt good but nothing like this. Auston wants more but the part of his mind which is still working is very aware they're pretty much in public.

“Not here,” Auston manages to gasp out.

That seems to get through and Tavares looks around nervously. “Yeah, for sure. My place?”

Auston thinks he agrees before Tavares helps him to his feet, still feeling that dizzying sensation, and lets himself be directing out to the parking garage.

They take Tavares’ car since Auston’s in no condition to drive. The journey gives Auston time to come back up, to settle himself, but now he feels kind of awkward. This wasn't exactly how he wanted Tavares to find out about him and he doesn't know what to say next.

The silence thickens and Auston still hasn't decided what to do when they pull up in Tavares’ driveway. This _is_ what he wanted, is _still_ what he wants, but it isn't how he thought it would work out. He unbuckles his seatbelt but stays in the seat.

“We don't have to do this,” Tavares offers but he sounds disappointed. “I can call you a Lyft?”

“No!” Auston almost surprises himself with the force of his response. He shakes of his nerves and gets out of the car, though he doesn’t know what else to say. He follows John to the door, trying to guess what's going to happen next. He doesn't know what kind of dom John is, or even if they're going to be compatible, but he has high hopes.

He'd often felt some of the kick Eichs got out of their scenes was that it was Auston he was doing it to, and Doughty had been upfront about that being part of the appeal for him. With John Auston had hoped for a more personal connection but at this point he’ll take whatever he can have.

They get inside and Auston kicks off his shoes, looking around. He’s been here before but it’s different when it’s not as part of a group. 

As soon as the door is locked, John turns to him and says, “Kneel.”

Auston might have dropped quickly at first but now something contradictory rises in him. He doesn't want to submit easily, he wants John to _force_ him go down. “Make me.”

John actually growls at the challenge but he reaches out, one hand going to Auston's shoulder, the other to the back of his neck. John squeezes his neck then grabs a handful of hair and _pulls_ , deliberately hard this time, and the feeling goes straight to Auston’s groin.

He doesn't want to fight the feeling so he doesn’t even try. Auston’s knees buckle as John pushes down and he ends up on the floor with his head pressed into John’s crotch. Auston deliberately rubs his cheek against the bulge he finds there and John groans. “You're going to kill me.”

“Not before you fuck me,” Auston promises. Now he is finally here, he wants to know if he can make John snap so he mouths over his clothed cock, leaving a wet patch on the fabric.

“Bedroom,” John gasps out, pulling Auston back to his feet and shoving him up against the wall. Auston knocks into something and there is a crash but neither of them look as John devours his mouth.

Auston eagerly opens for John’s demanding tongue, letting his head be tilted back for better access. He shudders as John nips at his lips, his jaw, letting his eyes fall closed as John sucks a mark into the curve of his neck.

It takes some effort but they manage to make their way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. John pushes Auston down onto the bed, kissing him roughly, pulling both their clothes off and Auston is distantly aware of the sound of a seam tearing but it seems really unimportant.

He tries to return the touches, let his hands explore in turn but John grabs his wrists and stops him. It's about that point, as John’s holding Auston's hands up over his head with one hand and pressing the other against his throat, that it occurs to him he's placing a lot of trust in Tavares being his teammate and unwilling to harm him.

The warm sensation starts to dissipate and Auston's hands feel cold. He tries to close his eyes and take deep breaths, relax back into it as John’s free hand roams across his chest and down towards his crotch, but that feels like putting his head underwater. His chest feels tight and he struggles against John’s grip.

It takes him a few tries before he can force the word, “Wait,” from his lips. Auston’s sure there was something different he was supposed to say but John pulls away sharply anyway. The space between them is a sudden shock of cold air, leaving Auston feeling unexpectedly bereft.

“Shit!” John scrubs his hands across his face. “I'm fucking this up.”

Pulling his hands down and wrapping his arms around himself, Auston takes a couple of deep breaths, resettling himself. He feels annoyed with his own reaction and the worried look on John’s face. “Can we just go back to the beginning?”

“I just basically made you safeword,” John says with a frown. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“No,” Auston protests, without any hesitation, “I still want to try.” He _had_ been enjoying being manhandled, up to a point, it had just all happened a bit fast. He certainly doesn't want to stop, not when its taken so long to get him. He tries to set himself in what he hopes is a seductive pose but John only gives him a dubious look.

“Are you sure?”

Auston resists the urge to ask who else is he going to try. He didn't think Tavares would necessarily consider that a good enough reason. “Clearly we have some chemistry together,” he says instead. “Let's just slow down, okay? Start over.”

John sits on the very edge of the bed and looks around the room, clearly taking in their scattered clothes and the knocked-over lampstand. “Okay, sure. But you've got to tell me if I mess up again.”

“Whatever,” Auston says but John narrows his eyes at him, looking like he might back out so Auston starts again. “Why don't you start with telling me what you want to do to me?” he suggests, trying to look appealing.

It seems to work; Tavares sighs deeply before saying, “Okay.” He leans back, giving Auston a thorough look-over. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me mark you up?”

“No,” Auston shakes his head somewhat regretfully. Doms rarely let subs leave anything but the lightest hickey so that would all but out him as a sub to everyone in the locker room. Still, he wishes he could wear a mark to remind him of their encounter.

“So any impact’s probably out as well.” Tavares looks a little disappointed and Auston has to swallow down the instinct to change his answer to please his dom. “Maybe during our bye week?”

Auston shudders at the easy implication that they’ll do this again. He swallows against his suddenly dry throat and manages to nod in agreement.

“Okay then.” Tavares still sounds uncertain. “Was it…” He takes a breath and starts again, sounding more in control. “Do you like being restrained?”

Auston hesitates; he’d liked it when Doughty had made him hold onto the headboard but it wasn’t like he’d had a lot of experience. Eichs had tied him up a couple of times when Auston had suggested he’d like to try it but it wasn’t really something Jack was into so he couldn’t be sure how he felt.

“I guess,” Auston says then, realising that doesn’t sound very enthusiastic, he asks, “Do you have, like, rope or cuffs?”

Tavares frowns at him. “I’m not sure that’s the best plan, I don’t want to risk your hands.”

Auston smiles, a warm feeling starting to build in his chest at the concern in his voice. That’s the part of having a dom he’s never had and he’s surprised at how much he likes it. 

John continues, “Besides, you don’t sound that into it. If it wasn’t that that made you safeword, what was it?”

“It wasn’t being held down,” Auston assures him. “I liked that part. It was more the…” He feels his face heat as he says, “The choking.” Even then, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t like to try it again sometime, it had just been too much in one go.

“Uh-huh.” John seems more relaxed now, shifting closer. “But you definitely like being restrained?”

Auston bites his lip as he nods. It’s hard to put into words how he knows the traditional 'willowy sub' stereotype isn’t really a thing but he still feels self-conscious about his size and how he’s bigger than all the doms he’s been with. John probably couldn’t hold him down if he really fought back, which is disappointing rather than reassuring, but being restrained helps with that.

John looks thoughtful. “Do you want to be good or have something to fight against?”

Auston wasn’t sure what the difference was but it was the first that made his stomach clench and his throat tighten. “Be good,” he said, practically a whisper.

John smiles then and that’s the look that appeals to Auston so much. “Have you ever tried honour bondage before?”

When Auston shakes his head, John fetches a tie from a drawer and loops it around one of the bars of the headboard, holding the ends out. “I’m not going to tie you up,” he explains. “I want you to hold onto each end and keep your hands there for me.”

Auston feels a rush as he reaches up for them, leaving him almost lightheaded. “Just that?”

“Until I tell you to let go.”

He feels at once both entirely safe and in control, but also completely in John’s hands. The sensation of going underwater returns only this time it is like floating, rather than drowning. Auston feels warm all over as John runs his hands possessively over him. 

“I can’t believe I get to do this.” John pinches his nipples and Auston pushes his chest up towards him. John slaps his chest and Auston shudders. “Lie still and take it.”

Though Auston had meant it when he said he wanted to be good, he can’t suppress the urge to chirp back, “Maybe hurry up then.”

John seems to purposefully slows down. “Did I say you could talk?”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t. If you don’t like it, why don't you shut me up?” Auston says, deliberately provoking him, though he doesn’t loosen his grip on the tie.

John laughs but leans down and kisses him deeply, fingers pulling hard at Auston’s hair, twisting it, holding him in place. By the time he pulls back, Auston is breathless.

He doesn’t argue this time as John’s hands go back to exploring his body, especially when he runs his nails over his abs. Auston has to catch himself from bringing his hands down to hold onto John’s broad shoulders, gripping the tie more tightly and feeling more of his tension slipping away. 

“You’re such a slut for it,” John says and Auston moans. “You have no idea how much I want to do to you.”

“Anything,” Auston rashly offers, desperate for more. He wants to be wrapped up in John’s body, possessed and utterly his.

John shakes his head. “Not this time and not like this. I want to take my time.” He looks Auston over and, once again, Auston feels warmed by John’s tenderness. Even so, John’s expression is hungry as he asks, “Can I fuck your thighs?”

That really isn’t what Auston was expecting. “Don’t you want to, like, actually fuck me?” They probably shouldn’t, not right in the middle of the season, but it’s the principle of the thing. Auston doesn’t want John to think he’s too inexperienced to sub properly. He isn’t a blushing virgin and doesn’t need to be treated like one.

“I mean, sure, at some point probably, but honestly, have you seen your thighs? They’re amazing.” John rubs his hands over Auston’s thick thighs as though he can’t resist them.

Auston flushes at the compliment. He’s never really thought of himself in that light, assuming that any dom would be interested in spite of his build not because of it. “If you say so. How do you want me?”

John frowns at him. “I mean it, Auston,” he says, as sincere as ever. “I know you work hard and I definitely appreciate it.”

There is a part of Auston that wants to object. He’s never been especially interested in the subs he picks up praising his muscles, it seems like the sort of things subs are expected to say, but something about hearing it from a dom, especially one he admires as much as Tavares, means a lot.

He lets John guide him onto his side, pressing up against his back. “You can let go now,” John tells him.

It takes Auston a moment to relax his grip and then he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, keeps his forearms tucked up as he leans slightly forwards, while John applies lube liberally to his inner thighs. The cold gel makes him shiver but John says reassuringly, “It'll warm up soon enough.”

John lines himself up, then pushes his hot, hard cock between Auston's legs, until the head presses against his balls. Then he starts to move, thrusting into the tight space. It isn't anything like actually being fucked but at the same time it feels almost more thrilling. Auston feels like an object to be used for his dom’s pleasure alone and he craves it.

He wants to touch himself but John catches his wrist as he reaches down, pressing it in his rib cage, holding him in place. This time when the floaty sensation returns, Auston lets himself drift, John’s grip an anchor keeping him secure.

It’s exhilarating, like being frozen in the moment at the top of the rollercoaster. John is talking but it’s hard to concentrate on his words, only the tone registers, affectionate and warm.

Auston’s whole body feels so sensitised. He is aware of every point of contact; John’s wet cock thrusting against him, John’s stubble rubbing against the back of his neck, John’s strong hands, one gripping his hip, the other tight around his wrist, where the thumb occasionally brushes against his nipple.

With every thrust, Auston slowly becomes aware of his own aching cock, rock hard even with no friction to help him. The pleasure rises higher until Auston comes hard, his body shaking in the aftermath. It doesn’t take much longer for John to follow suit, splashes of warmth over Auston’s legs. 

Auston floats in the haze, at least until John’s warmth moves away. He makes a sound of protest and John squeezes his hip reassuringly. “I’m just getting a cloth.”

It only takes a moment before John is back and he carefully cleans Auston off, first his stomach, then his ass and thighs and finally, gently wiping over his cock and balls. John takes his time and Auston wishes it didn’t have to end.

When John turns back towards the bathroom Auston forces himself to sit up. His tiredness from the game has finally caught up with him but, though he doesn’t want to head back to his empty apartment, Auston isn’t sure what the etiquette is here. Doughty had clearly expected him to leave as soon as they were finished, and he’d needed to get away from the feeling of vulnerability, but Eichs had let Auston cuddle with him on the sofa and that had been better. 

“Can I? I mean, I can go if you want, but can I stay a little while?” Auston stumbles over his words as he tries to express this to John. “You don’t have to do anything, we could just, like, watch TV or something.” Besides, they still need to have the conversation about how the team thinks he’s a dom, though it would be good if that could wait until the morning.

John scrubs a hand through his hair, leaving it more tousled than when he had started. “I’m not going to just make you leave.” He makes it sound so obvious. “Are you hungry? I could cook something?”

Auston forces a smile. He doesn’t know if John genuinely wants him to stay or it’s just politeness but he’ll take what he can get. “I can always eat.”


	4. Fanning the Flames - Matthew Tkachuk/James Neal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, this is the last chapter from last season's series and only a week over into this one... Of course, it took me so long to write that James Neal is now on a different team entirely but such is life for a hockey fan!
> 
> I originally intended the Flames teammate to be someone other than Matty Tkachuk but I have been converted. 
> 
> This is set at some nebulous point towards the tail end of Nealer's 24-game goalless streak. At least he seems to be having a better season this time around.

Calgary was cold, especially after two seasons in Tennessee and then one in Nevada, but it wasn't just the weather that had James curled up under the weight of his blankets after practice, trying not to shiver. 

James had told himself for weeks that he didn't need a dom but his slow start was turning into a bad season and he could feel the strain. It had got worse as each game went by without a goal and the pressure from coaches and management was really getting to him. Did they think he didn't know already what their expectations had been? It wasn't as though he had planned for things to go this badly.  

He couldn't even bring himself to talk to the other subs on the team; there was Backlund, responsible, married, and trusted with an ‘A’ and then kids who no-one expected to have their lives together. It was one thing for _them_ to turn to the team and ask for help. If _he_ did it, everything would know what a failure he was. 

They had a night off at home and some of the guys had arranged a movie night. He ought to have been trying to socialise with his teammates, get to know them better; instead he was wondering if he was pathetic enough to call one of those hotlines which advertised themselves as having a dom at the end of the line ready and willing to help out. 

James didn’t think he was that hopeless but he couldn’t settle, the restless itch to submit consuming him. Eventually, desperate, he called one of the few doms he really trusted. As the phone rang, James tried to remember if the Knights were playing that evening. He’d almost given up when the call finally picked up. 

He’d gone for FaceTime, thinking it would help but he regretted it as soon as Flower saw him and James watched his expression turn serious. “Oh Jamie, mon pauvre,” Flower said. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?” 

James broke down. He felt so stupid for having to go to someone who'd barely been his dom, who certainly didn't need his shit, but he didn't know who else he could turn to. He'd considered Shea but he was still out injured and since he’d now been made captain in Montreal he surely had more than enough on his plate already. Flower was an old friend as much as anything else and he never judged. 

“Why didn't you ask Engo?” Flower chided him. “He would have helped you find someone there.” 

James shook his head. He’d thought it would be fine. He didn’t need a dom; he hadn’t had one in Nashville, only casual partners, and though Flower’d helped him out in Vegas it hadn’t been serious. 

But James was struggling now and it was already showing on the ice. Or maybe it was his on-ice struggles making him long for someone to lean on but either way he didn’t know what to do. He was too old for clubs and hookup apps. On days like this, he wished he’d taken Vegas’ offer, even though it had been for less years, just so he wouldn’t be feeling so alone. 

“You’re such a mess, Jamie,” Flower said and, though his tone was fond, his words still made James shrink in on himself. 

“Maybe I need to send Paulie up there to look after you,” Flower suggested. “Now he’s retired and-” 

“No,” James choked out. He knew Flower was only trying to help but Paulie had never been interested in James the way he wanted and it brought tears to his eyes at the memory of being turned down. He'd never been good enough. Dicky had been the only dom who’d ever wanted to keep him but back in Iowa he’d had his own problems and they hadn’t had the time together in Nashville to tell if there was anything worth rekindling. 

“Oh Jamie, mon cheri, you really are in a state,” Flower said consolingly. “N’inquiète pas.” He murmured endearments in French as James struggled to pull himself together. 

When he was settled a little, Flower asked, “Won’t you let me help you?”  

James didn’t see how he could do anything else at this point and followed Flower’s instructions to go take a shower while he made some calls. By the time he got out, he had a text from Flower promising someone was on their way and telling him to drink some water.   

When the knock came, James was in the kitchen drinking straight from the faucet since he didn’t have any clean glasses. He hoped whoever it was wouldn’t look around too closely. 

James stumbled to open the door but when he found Tkachuk standing there, he was momentarily confused. They weren’t close; Tkachuk had only been here once before when James’d had the whole team over for a housewarming so he wasn’t sure why he was here now. 

Tkachuk broke the silence. “Engo called me.  Said you needed a helping hand?” 

James felt a wave of shame that, of all the people Engo could have found, his much younger teammate had to be involved in this. Matty was barely 21 - more than 10 years his junior. James had played against his father, for fuck’s sake, in his own first years in the league.

Still, he trusted Flower and Engo enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, he did wear an ‘A’ and there was something about Tkachuk’s posture which made his dominance clear.  

He stepped back to let the dom in and Tkachuk closed the door behind him. In the enclosed space of the hall it felt wrong to be standing and James quickly dropped to his knees. It felt like a relief, as though a weight had been lifted from him, but once he was down, James couldn’t bring himself to look back up and see the pitying expression he was sure must be there. 

“Let's take this somewhere more comfortable,” Tkachuk said, after a moment. 

James wasn't quite desperate enough to crawl but he couldn’t bring himself to lead the way. Fortunately it was pretty obvious which was the living room. and James could trail after his team-mate.   

Tkachuk settled on the sofa and James knelt on the floor in front of him. Engo must have impressed upon him that James needed especial care taken as Tkachuk made him put a cushion under his knees, though James didn't feel he deserved it.  

“Tell me what you need?” Tkachuk asked, running his fingers through his already messy curls. 

James wanted to beg for that hand petting his own hair, a dom’s steadying touch, but instead said quickly, “To be punished.” 

Tkachuk frowned. “I'm going to need more than that. What have you done wrong that needs punishment?” 

James whined. Tkachuk must know, he’s been out of the ice with him. James didn’t want to have to admit it but maybe that was part of his punishment. It all tumbled out, barely coherent. He's a bad player. Selfish, lazy, dirty. Every bad thing commentators or writers have had to say about him over the years built up into one torrent. How worthless he felt, how much of a failure. 

He’d hoped sharing it might make him feel lighter but instead the guilt at imposing it all on this _kid_ choked him. James stumbled to a halt and there was a moment of silence. 

This couldn’t be how Tkachuk wanted to spend his afternoon and James was afraid he’d driven the other man away, but when he dared to look up from the floor, Tkachuk was still there, brow furrowed in thought. 

James waited for the judgement. He knew what other people thought about him. He'd overheard teammates saying how there was something wrong with a sub his age who wasn't settled down. They speculated on why it could be: there had to be doms who’d put up with a lot for his money, and he was still good-looking enough, so they guessed he must either be a shitty sub or else into something really kinky. 

James liked to think he was a good sub and he didn’t think what he wanted was that weird. Really, he just wanted to be useful but he’d never had a dom who’d been into being served the way he yearned to do and it wasn’t something James felt comfortable doing in front of the team.  

Flower had let him run errands for him, found ways for James to help with his equipment. He’d always given James praise and support but ultimately Flower had his own sub at home and it was only just enough. Now he didn’t even have that and he hadn’t realise how much he’d needed it. 

“Nealer…” Tkachuk started, then paused. “James… What do your doms usually call you?” 

“Jamie,” James told him hesitantly. 

“Okay, Jamie.  You want to prove to me that you’re not useless?” 

James’ heart leaped in hope, he hadn’t been able to find the words but that was exactly what he wanted. “Yes, please, sir.” 

“You want me to let you know you’re doing well?” Tkachuk asked, reaching a hand out as though to touch him. 

James bit his lip to stop himself leaning towards it and then shook his head. “You shouldn’t lie. I can take it.” 

“You don’t want to be praised?” Tkachuk pulled his hand back, sounding surprised. 

James forced himself to explain, “I need to know I’ve earned it.” 

Tkachuk nodded thoughtfully. “Well then, here’s what’s going to happen-” 

He made James take off his clothes then go get him a drink. When James came back from the kitchen, the last bottle of Gatorade from his fridge in hand, Tkachuk had turned on the TV.  “Come and sit back down,” he told James.  

Handing him the bottle, James dropped to his knees again awaiting the next instruction, thoughts already settling even with such easy orders to follow. “I just want you to stay still for me, okay?” Tkachuk said, then he leant back resting his feet in James’ lap. 

It was good to begin with, and James felt as though he could finally breathe. This was what he’d needed, and if it was a little humiliating to be treated like furniture then at least he was being useful. 

James started to feel some of the tension easing out of his shoulders but he couldn’t quite let go all the way, his thoughts still circling back to hockey and his disastrous start for his new team. 

He tried not to shift around but he wasn’t young anymore and even with the cushion his knees ached. Still, he was doing what he’d been told and both the service and the pain helped remind him he didn’t need to do anything but stay right where he was.  

He didn’t know if Tkachuk could tell he was still distracted but, when the next commercial break started, Tkachuk leaned forward to put his drink on the coffee table and spread his legs apart. “Are you good with your mouth, Jamie?” 

James felt his face heat at the implication; he hadn’t dared hope for anything sexual. Still he’d never had any complaints about his skills there at least, and it was one of the simplest ways of serving a dom, one that he’d never been turned down when offering so he nodded, licking his lips.  

Tkachuk smiled. “Why don’t you come here and prove it.” He was visibly half-hard through his pants but made no move to push them down.  

James looked to Tkachuk for permission as his hands hovered over the belt buckle. Tkachuk nodded at him and James undid the fastenings, pulling his pants away enough to free his cock. He leaned forward to take it in his mouth, but was stopped by Tkachuk’s hands in his hair. 

“I’m not in a hurry,” he said. “I just want you to stay there and hold it.” 

Oh. That was something James hadn’t done in a while and he felt warm all over at the thought of getting to show how well he could do. Maybe if he was good enough, Tkachuk might actually let him blow him properly afterwards. 

It took a few minutes for him to settle, jaw straining to adjust, but finally James sank into an almost meditative state, Tkachuk’s cock resting in his mouth, nothing for him to do but wait for the next order. 

He was vaguely aware of time passing; another commercial break, the program ending, Tkachuk flipping through channels, but it was unimportant, all that mattered was keeping his dom’s cock steady in his mouth. All James could smell and taste was him. 

He kept swallowing but there was still spit running down his chin. Tkachuk got harder until finally he put a hand on the back of James’ head. “You’re doing well so far. Now, show me how good you can be.” 

His jaw was already starting to ache but James was desperate to earn more praise. He pulled back slowly, sucking on the head and lapping up beads of precum. Then, using his tongue, he worked back down the shaft. 

Tkachuk let him figure out what worked to begin with, not quite thrusting into his mouth but rocking up a little every time James found the right places or amount of pressure, fingers digging into James’ scalp. 

After a few minutes, Tkachuk tugged hard on his hair, bringing tears to James' eyes as he pulled off. “I thought you said you were good at this?” Tkachuk said, his tone still mild. “Is that the best you can do?” 

His words stung but James was determined to prove himself.  “Let me show you?” he pleaded. 

Tkachuk let go of his hair and James took a deep breath, then slid his mouth down Tkachuk’s cock, until his nose brushed against pubic hair and the head of his cock was in his throat. 

“That’s it,” Tkachuk said. James couldn't see his expression but he was starting to sound out of breath. “I knew you could do it.” 

James swallowed around it, and let his hands twist together behind his back, letting Tkachuk take control of the speed and pace. It was so good to give up control and let himself be used. 

Tkachuk didn't make it easy for him but James was able to keep up and he knew Tkachuk was getting close when he felt his thighs tightened around his shoulders tighten around him. 

“I’m gonna come,” Tkachuk told James. “Can you swallow it all for me?” 

James continued to suck, blinking up at the dom and hoping he’d accept that as an answer. 

“Good boy.” It felt weird to be called that by someone so much younger than him but James wasn’t about to turn away any praise. 

When Tkachuk came, in bitter spurts across his tongue, James eagerly swallowed it down. 

As he softened, Tkachuk gently pulled him away and let James rest his head on his thigh, stroking fingers lightly over his head. 

James felt so relaxed he didn’t even complain about the mess Tkachuk was probably making of his hair. 

“Was that okay?" Tkachuk asked eventually. "Do you feel better?” 

Words still felt out of his reach so James simply nodded. It was true, he did, but he could still feel the awful cloud of his failure hanging over him. At least this would keep it at bay for a few days, maybe a few weeks if he was lucky and give him the chance to turn things around. 

Tkachuk tucked himself back into his pants and they sat there a while longer as James settled back into his own head and started to notice his aching joints. He shifted, rubbing his knees as Tkachuk let James pull back and off them, sitting back and leaning against the coffee table. 

James didn't know how much time had passed before Tkachuk stood, helping James to his own feet. He was clearly intending to wrap their scene up when he said, “You know you can always come to me if you need anything.” 

Knowing he was probably just saying it to be polite, James resisted the urge to get back on his knees and beg the other man to stay longer but something of it must have shown on his face.  

Tkachuk frowned, then his expression softened. “Can you tell me what you need, Jamie?” 

What he wanted, a dom who cared about more than his ability to play hockey, wasn't going to happen but suddenly James was struck by an urge to prove he could serve in other ways then on his knees. Maybe he could show he wasn't entirely incapable. 

“Can I cook for you?”  The words poured out of his mouth without engaging his brain. 

Tkachuk looked doubtful and James was quick to assure him, “I can cook, I promise. It's not fancy but I won't give you food poisoning. I just wanted… Let me… thank you?” he trailed off. 

“You know you don’t have to,” Tkachuk reassured him. 

“But what if I want to?” James knew he must have sounded desperate but he couldn’t be alone again, not yet. Besides, there was nothing odd about offering to cook was okay. It was less weird than wanting to clean his shoes or take care of his hockey gear, surely? Not that James wouldn’t be happy to do that too but maybe not just yet. 

Tkachuk’s expression turned understanding and he smiled, “Oh, do you want to serve me, Jamie?” 

There wasn’t anything particularly mocking in his tone but James couldn’t help but feel defensive. “I know what people say about me.  All the stuff the Pens put out, I know it didn’t look good, but neither G...Malkin nor Martin were ever my doms.” 

“I don’t listen to that sort of thing,” Tkachuk said dismissively. 

Or perhaps he was just too young to have been aware how often James had gotten called ‘lazy’ and ‘spoilt.’ Still, James was touched by the declaration, true or not.  

But now he’d thought about it, the humiliation rose up in him again. Tkachuk was just 21 and he clearly had his shit together; James was still a mess in his thirties. James suddenly felt self-conscious about his dishevelled appearance. He’d always taken pride in looking good but over the last few weeks he’d struggled to take care of himself. 

Tkachuk followed him into the kitchen and James remembered he hadn’t washed any dishes in days and most of his silverware and plates were either sitting in the dishwasher or scattered around the house.  

Instead of looking disappointed in him, as Paulie might have done, Tkachuk laughed. “Looks just like my kitchen.” He felt less like a dom than a fellow team-mate and James felt a little off-kilter. 

Even though he didn’t expect Tkachuk to stick around, it still felt easier to get chores done with a dom watching over him. Under his watchful eye, James even managed to finish loading the dishwasher and set it going. 

James opened the fridge and winced.  Something in there had definitely gone bad and he could smell it. The eggs were still in date though, and he couldn’t see any mold on the block of cheese. “Omelette?” he offered hopefully. 

Tkachuk agreed, sitting at the breakfast bar. It reminded James of his earliest days in Pittsburgh. Paulie hadn’t trusted him in the kitchen and, to be fair to him, at the time he’d been pretty bad at it, but he’d learned over the years. 

The pan was clean at least and James looking around for something to break the eggs into. He remembered the fancy dinner service Paulie had bought him when he moved out that got left on display. It needed the dust wiping off, but that was still better than nearly everything else in his kitchen. 

Finally James served up the omelette and stepped back to watch as Tkachuk started to shovel it into his mouth. He probably shouldn’t find his table manners appealing but it felt good to know this was something else he could do right. 

“Aren't you going to eat?” Tkachuk asked, when James didn’t move away. 

James shook his head. He knew he should but he didn't feel hungry. Or maybe he did, but it was a long way away. 

“Come and sit down,” Tkachuk told him.  He took another bite, chewing more deliberately.  “Mmm, tastes good,” he said through a mouthful of food then held out a forkful to James. “Now your turn.” 

James reached out to take the fork from him but Tkachuk shook his head. “Not like that.” 

James flushed and opened his mouth, allowing Tkachuk to feed him the bite. It was more than just the food that makes him feel so good, warm inside. No dom had done that for him in years. 

Tkachuk alternated between eating and feeding James and all too soon it was gone. James’ stomach rumbled, his appetite now reawakened and he felt himself flush. He felt more together than he had in weeks and it just made him very aware of the state of his place. 

Tkachuk took another look around the kitchen. “This was all you had in the house, wasn’t it?” 

James nodded hesitantly. “Yeah,” he admitted. He hadn’t seen any point in shopping when he hadn’t felt like eating away from the rink. 

“Come on then,” Tkachuk said decisively. “You’re coming back to mine. I’ve got waffle mix.”  

It was probably a mark of how messed up he’d been that that sounded appealing but James had nothing to lose at this point. He followed. 

Calgary was cold, especially after two seasons in Tennessee and then one in Nevada, but it wasn't just the weather that had James curled up under the weight of his blankets after practice, trying not to shiver. 

James had told himself for weeks that he didn't need a dom but his slow start was turning into a bad season and he could feel the strain. It had got worse as each game went by without a goal and the pressure from coaches and management was really getting to him. Did they think he didn't know already what their expectations had been? It wasn't as though he had planned for things to go this badly.  

He couldn't even bring himself to talk to the other subs on the team; there was Backlund, responsible, married, and trusted with an ‘A’ and then kids who no-one expected to have their lives together. It was one thing for _them_ to turn to the team and ask for help. If _he_ did it, everything would know what a failure he was. 

They had a night off at home and some of the guys had arranged a movie night. He ought to have been trying to socialise with his teammates, get to know them better; instead he was wondering if he was pathetic enough to call one of those hotlines which advertised themselves as having a dom at the end of the line ready and willing to help out. 

James didn’t think he was that hopeless but he couldn’t settle, the restless itch to submit consuming him. Eventually, desperate, he called one of the few doms he really trusted. As the phone rang, James tried to remember if the Knights were playing that evening. He’d almost given up when the call finally picked up. 

He’d gone for FaceTime, thinking it would help but he regretted it as soon as Flower saw him and James watched his expression turn serious. “Oh Jamie, mon pauvre,” Flower said. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?” 

James broke down. He felt so stupid for having to go to someone who'd barely been his dom, who certainly didn't need his shit, but he didn't know who else he could turn to. He'd considered Shea but he was still out injured and since he’d now been made captain in Montreal he surely had more than enough on his plate already. Flower was an old friend as much as anything else and he never judged. 

“Why didn't you ask Engo?” Flower chided him. “He would have helped you find someone there.” 

James shook his head. He’d thought it would be fine. He didn’t need a dom; he hadn’t had one in Nashville, only casual partners, and though Flower’d helped him out in Vegas it hadn’t been serious. 

But James was struggling now and it was already showing on the ice. Or maybe it was his on-ice struggles making him long for someone to lean on but either way he didn’t know what to do. He was too old for clubs and hookup apps. On days like this, he wished he’d taken Vegas’ offer, even though it had been for less years, just so he wouldn’t be feeling so alone. 

“You’re such a mess, Jamie,” Flower said and, though his tone was fond, his words still made James shrink in on himself. 

“Maybe I need to send Paulie up there to look after you,” Flower suggested. “Now he’s retired and-” 

“No,” James choked out. He knew Flower was only trying to help but Paulie had never been interested in James the way he wanted and it brought tears to his eyes at the memory of being turned down. He'd never been good enough. Dicky had been the only dom who’d ever wanted to keep him but back in Iowa he’d had his own problems and they hadn’t had the time together in Nashville to tell if there was anything worth rekindling. 

“Oh Jamie, mon cheri, you really are in a state,” Flower said consolingly. “N’inquiète pas.” He murmured endearments in French as James struggled to pull himself together. 

When he was settled a little, Flower asked, “Won’t you let me help you?”  

James didn’t see how he could do anything else at this point and followed Flower’s instructions to go take a shower while he made some calls. By the time he got out, he had a text from Flower promising someone was on their way and telling him to drink some water.   

When the knock came, James was in the kitchen drinking straight from the faucet since he didn’t have any clean glasses. He hoped whoever it was wouldn’t look around too closely. 

James stumbled to open the door but when he found Tkachuk standing there, he was momentarily confused. They weren’t close; Tkachuk had only been here once before when James’d had the whole team over for a housewarming so he wasn’t sure why he was here now. 

Tkachuk broke the silence. “Engo called me.  Said you needed a helping hand?” 

James felt a wave of shame that, of all the people Engo could have found, his much younger teammate had to be involved in this. Matty was barely 21 - more than 10 years his junior. James had played against his father, for fuck’s sake, in his own first years in the league.

Still, he trusted Flower and Engo enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, he did wear an ‘A’ and there was something about Tkachuk’s posture which made his dominance clear.  

He stepped back to let the dom in and Tkachuk closed the door behind him. In the enclosed space of the hall it felt wrong to be standing and James quickly dropped to his knees. It felt like a relief, as though a weight had been lifted from him, but once he was down, James couldn’t bring himself to look back up and see the pitying expression he was sure must be there. 

“Let's take this somewhere more comfortable,” Tkachuk said, after a moment. 

James wasn't quite desperate enough to crawl but he couldn’t bring himself to lead the way. Fortunately it was pretty obvious which was the living room. and James could trail after his team-mate.   

Tkachuk settled on the sofa and James knelt on the floor in front of him. Engo must have impressed upon him that James needed especial care taken as Tkachuk made him put a cushion under his knees, though James didn't feel he deserved it.  

“Tell me what you need?” Tkachuk asked, running his fingers through his already messy curls. 

James wanted to beg for that hand petting his own hair, a dom’s steadying touch, but instead said quickly, “To be punished.” 

Tkachuk frowned. “I'm going to need more than that. What have you done wrong that needs punishment?” 

James whined. Tkachuk must know, he’s been out of the ice with him. James didn’t want to have to admit it but maybe that was part of his punishment. It all tumbled out, barely coherent. He's a bad player. Selfish, lazy, dirty. Every bad thing commentators or writers have had to say about him over the years built up into one torrent. How worthless he felt, how much of a failure. 

He’d hoped sharing it might make him feel lighter but instead the guilt at imposing it all on this _kid_ choked him. James stumbled to a halt and there was a moment of silence. 

This couldn’t be how Tkachuk wanted to spend his afternoon and James was afraid he’d driven the other man away, but when he dared to look up from the floor, Tkachuk was still there, brow furrowed in thought. 

James waited for the judgement. He knew what other people thought about him. He'd overheard teammates saying how there was something wrong with a sub his age who wasn't settled down. They speculated on why it could be: there had to be doms who’d put up with a lot for his money, and he was still good-looking enough, so they guessed he must either be a shitty sub or else into something really kinky. 

James liked to think he was a good sub and he didn’t think what he wanted was that weird. Really, he just wanted to be useful but he’d never had a dom who’d been into being served the way he yearned to do and it wasn’t something James felt comfortable doing in front of the team.  

Flower had let him run errands for him, found ways for James to help with his equipment. He’d always given James praise and support but ultimately Flower had his own sub at home and it was only just enough. Now he didn’t even have that and he hadn’t realise how much he’d needed it. 

“Nealer…” Tkachuk started, then paused. “James… What do your doms usually call you?” 

“Jamie,” James told him hesitantly. 

“Okay, Jamie.  You want to prove to me that you’re not useless?” 

James’ heart leaped in hope, he hadn’t been able to find the words but that was exactly what he wanted. “Yes, please, sir.” 

“You want me to let you know you’re doing well?” Tkachuk asked, reaching a hand out as though to touch him. 

James bit his lip to stop himself leaning towards it and then shook his head. “You shouldn’t lie. I can take it.” 

“You don’t want to be praised?” Tkachuk pulled his hand back, sounding surprised. 

James forced himself to explain, “I need to know I’ve earned it.” 

Tkachuk nodded thoughtfully. “Well then, here’s what’s going to happen-” 

He made James take off his clothes then go get him a drink. When James came back from the kitchen, the last bottle of Gatorade from his fridge in hand, Tkachuk had turned on the TV.  “Come and sit back down,” he told James.  

Handing him the bottle, James dropped to his knees again awaiting the next instruction, thoughts already settling even with such easy orders to follow. “I just want you to stay still for me, okay?” Tkachuk said, then he leant back resting his feet in James’ lap. 

It was good to begin with, and James felt as though he could finally breathe. This was what he’d needed, and if it was a little humiliating to be treated like furniture then at least he was being useful. 

James started to feel some of the tension easing out of his shoulders but he couldn’t quite let go all the way, his thoughts still circling back to hockey and his disastrous start for his new team. 

He tried not to shift around but he wasn’t young anymore and even with the cushion his knees ached. Still, he was doing what he’d been told and both the service and the pain helped remind him he didn’t need to do anything but stay right where he was.  

He didn’t know if Tkachuk could tell he was still distracted but, when the next commercial break started, Tkachuk leaned forward to put his drink on the coffee table and spread his legs apart. “Are you good with your mouth, Jamie?” 

James felt his face heat at the implication; he hadn’t dared hope for anything sexual. Still he’d never had any complaints about his skills there at least, and it was one of the simplest ways of serving a dom, one that he’d never been turned down when offering so he nodded, licking his lips.  

Tkachuk smiled. “Why don’t you come here and prove it.” He was visibly half-hard through his pants but made no move to push them down.  

James looked to Tkachuk for permission as his hands hovered over the belt buckle. Tkachuk nodded at him and James undid the fastenings, pulling his pants away enough to free his cock. He leaned forward to take it in his mouth, but was stopped by Tkachuk’s hands in his hair. 

“I’m not in a hurry,” he said. “I just want you to stay there and hold it.” 

Oh. That was something James hadn’t done in a while and he felt warm all over at the thought of getting to show how well he could do. Maybe if he was good enough, Tkachuk might actually let him blow him properly afterwards. 

It took a few minutes for him to settle, jaw straining to adjust, but finally James sank into an almost meditative state, Tkachuk’s cock resting in his mouth, nothing for him to do but wait for the next order. 

He was vaguely aware of time passing; another commercial break, the program ending, Tkachuk flipping through channels, but it was unimportant, all that mattered was keeping his dom’s cock steady in his mouth. All James could smell and taste was him. 

He kept swallowing but there was still spit running down his chin. Tkachuk got harder until finally he put a hand on the back of James’ head. “You’re doing well so far. Now, show me how good you can be.” 

His jaw was already starting to ache but James was desperate to earn more praise. He pulled back slowly, sucking on the head and lapping up beads of precum. Then, using his tongue, he worked back down the shaft. 

Tkachuk let him figure out what worked to begin with, not quite thrusting into his mouth but rocking up a little every time James found the right places or amount of pressure, fingers digging into James’ scalp. 

After a few minutes, Tkachuk tugged hard on his hair, bringing tears to James' eyes as he pulled off. “I thought you said you were good at this?” Tkachuk said, his tone still mild. “Is that the best you can do?” 

His words stung but James was determined to prove himself.  “Let me show you?” he pleaded. 

Tkachuk let go of his hair and James took a deep breath, then slid his mouth down Tkachuk’s cock, until his nose brushed against pubic hair and the head of his cock was in his throat. 

“That’s it,” Tkachuk said. James couldn't see his expression but he was starting to sound out of breath. “I knew you could do it.” 

James swallowed around it, and let his hands twist together behind his back, letting Tkachuk take control of the speed and pace. It was so good to give up control and let himself be used. 

Tkachuk didn't make it easy for him but James was able to keep up and he knew Tkachuk was getting close when he felt his thighs tightened around his shoulders tighten around him. 

“I’m gonna come,” Tkachuk told James. “Can you swallow it all for me?” 

James continued to suck, blinking up at the dom and hoping he’d accept that as an answer. 

“Good boy.” It felt weird to be called that by someone so much younger than him but James wasn’t about to turn away any praise. 

When Tkachuk came, in bitter spurts across his tongue, James eagerly swallowed it down. 

As he softened, Tkachuk gently pulled him away and let James rest his head on his thigh, stroking fingers lightly over his head. 

James felt so relaxed he didn’t even complain about the mess Tkachuk was probably making of his hair. 

“Was that okay?" Tkachuk asked eventually. "Do you feel better?” 

Words still felt out of his reach so James simply nodded. It was true, he did, but he could still feel the awful cloud of his failure hanging over him. At least this would keep it at bay for a few days, maybe a few weeks if he was lucky and give him the chance to turn things around. 

Tkachuk tucked himself back into his pants and they sat there a while longer as James settled back into his own head and started to notice his aching joints. He shifted, rubbing his knees as Tkachuk let James pull back and off them, sitting back and leaning against the coffee table. 

James didn't know how much time had passed before Tkachuk stood, helping James to his own feet. He was clearly intending to wrap their scene up when he said, “You know you can always come to me if you need anything.” 

Knowing he was probably just saying it to be polite, James resisted the urge to get back on his knees and beg the other man to stay longer but something of it must have shown on his face.  

Tkachuk frowned, then his expression softened. “Can you tell me what you need, Jamie?” 

What he wanted, a dom who cared about more than his ability to play hockey, wasn't going to happen but suddenly James was struck by an urge to prove he could serve in other ways then on his knees. Maybe he could show he wasn't entirely incapable. 

“Can I cook for you?”  The words poured out of his mouth without engaging his brain. 

Tkachuk looked doubtful and James was quick to assure him, “I can cook, I promise. It's not fancy but I won't give you food poisoning. I just wanted… Let me… thank you?” he trailed off. 

“You know you don’t have to,” Tkachuk reassured him. 

“But what if I want to?” James knew he must have sounded desperate but he couldn’t be alone again, not yet. Besides, there was nothing odd about offering to cook was okay. It was less weird than wanting to clean his shoes or take care of his hockey gear, surely? Not that James wouldn’t be happy to do that too but maybe not just yet. 

Tkachuk’s expression turned understanding and he smiled, “Oh, do you want to serve me, Jamie?” 

There wasn’t anything particularly mocking in his tone but James couldn’t help but feel defensive. “I know what people say about me.  All the stuff the Pens put out, I know it didn’t look good, but neither G...Malkin nor Martin were ever my doms.” 

“I don’t listen to that sort of thing,” Tkachuk said dismissively. 

Or perhaps he was just too young to have been aware how often James had gotten called ‘lazy’ and ‘spoilt.’ Still, James was touched by the declaration, true or not.  

But now he’d thought about it, the humiliation rose up in him again. Tkachuk was just 21 and he clearly had his shit together; James was still a mess in his thirties. James suddenly felt self-conscious about his dishevelled appearance. He’d always taken pride in looking good but over the last few weeks he’d struggled to take care of himself. 

Tkachuk followed him into the kitchen and James remembered he hadn’t washed any dishes in days and most of his silverware and plates were either sitting in the dishwasher or scattered around the house.  

Instead of looking disappointed in him, as Paulie might have done, Tkachuk laughed. “Looks just like my kitchen.” He felt less like a dom than a fellow team-mate and James felt a little off-kilter. 

Even though he didn’t expect Tkachuk to stick around, it still felt easier to get chores done with a dom watching over him. Under his watchful eye, James even managed to finish loading the dishwasher and set it going. 

James opened the fridge and winced.  Something in there had definitely gone bad and he could smell it. The eggs were still in date though, and he couldn’t see any mold on the block of cheese. “Omelette?” he offered hopefully. 

Tkachuk agreed, sitting at the breakfast bar. It reminded James of his earliest days in Pittsburgh. Paulie hadn’t trusted him in the kitchen and, to be fair to him, at the time he’d been pretty bad at it, but he’d learned over the years. 

The pan was clean at least and James looking around for something to break the eggs into. He remembered the fancy dinner service Paulie had bought him when he moved out that got left on display. It needed the dust wiping off, but that was still better than nearly everything else in his kitchen. 

Finally James served up the omelette and stepped back to watch as Tkachuk started to shovel it into his mouth. He probably shouldn’t find his table manners appealing but it felt good to know this was something else he could do right. 

“Aren't you going to eat?” Tkachuk asked, when James didn’t move away. 

James shook his head. He knew he should but he didn't feel hungry. Or maybe he did, but it was a long way away. 

“Come and sit down,” Tkachuk told him.  He took another bite, chewing more deliberately.  “Mmm, tastes good,” he said through a mouthful of food then held out a forkful to James. “Now your turn.” 

James reached out to take the fork from him but Tkachuk shook his head. “Not like that.” 

James flushed and opened his mouth, allowing Tkachuk to feed him the bite. It was more than just the food that makes him feel so good, warm inside. No dom had done that for him in years. 

Tkachuk alternated between eating and feeding James and all too soon it was gone. James’ stomach rumbled, his appetite now reawakened and he felt himself flush. He felt more together than he had in weeks and it just made him very aware of the state of his place. 

Tkachuk took another look around the kitchen. “This was all you had in the house, wasn’t it?” 

James nodded hesitantly. “Yeah,” he admitted. He hadn’t seen any point in shopping when he hadn’t felt like eating away from the rink. 

“Come on then,” Tkachuk said decisively. “You’re coming back to mine. I’ve got waffle mix.”  

It was probably a mark of how messed up he’d been that that sounded appealing but James had nothing to lose at this point. He followed. 


End file.
